


One for the Future, Two for the Past

by firrehearrt



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Champagne Problems, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Happy Ending, Oneshot, Past Relationship(s), Sharing a Bed, Songfic, a tad bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firrehearrt/pseuds/firrehearrt
Summary: For the past two years, he's been heartbroken over her, carrying everything he never said.She's angry, and lost, confused as to why he left.But what happens when they're thrown together for the summer, expected to carry out a fake relationship?Bellarke to Champagne Problems.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Wells Jaha/Roan - minor
Comments: 15
Kudos: 94





	One for the Future, Two for the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wapbellamy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wapbellamy/gifts).



> happy birthday em!! you asked for a champagne problems fic and it kind of ran away with me, but I hope you love this half as much as I love you<3
> 
> content warning for depictions of panic attacks and mentions of nausea

“He drives me up the wall, mom, you know this,” Clarke complains, Abby behind her as she applies the finishing touches to her makeup. 

Her mother is unbothered, as Clarke figured she might be. A sigh makes her disapproval clear. Not that Clarke cares. She’s moved past that part of her life. (A ridiculous thought, because she has not, in fact, moved beyond caring about her mother’s opinion).

“I don’t care if you like him. It’s good PR for both families.” Abby taps her heel on the ground, impatient. “We were supposed to leave five minutes ago.” 

Clarke glares at her in the mirror, though Abby’s too busy scrolling through her phone to notice. 

“Well now I suppose we’ll just be ten minutes early instead of your standard twenty,” Clarke mocks, sarcasm leaking from her voice. 

“Image is everything, Clarke.” Abby snaps, as Clarke snatches her purse from the vanity. 

“Of course, mom.”

“Don’t mock me,” but the fire is gone, the woman once again too encompassed in whatever she’s working on to actually pay attention to the conversation at hand. 

Clarke focuses on her steps as they make their way to the car. The dress is a tad tight and the heels a bit high for her taste. Truthfully, the entire outfit is far too extravagant for her taste. If she had any say in her night, she’d be in jeans and a paint stained t-shirt, sat in front of the tv watching some shitty rom com for the millionth time, pretending that was her life. A simple romance plot with a nice plot twist for angst followed by a notoriously happy ending after the love confession. 

Alas, she’s in a black SUV, surrounded by security, being driven by someone she hardly knows. Lincoln is great, she’s discerned from the times she’s been allowed to talk to him. But those are rare occasions, when her mother is far away but still insists on Clarke taking the driver instead of transporting herself. Because “image is important, Clarke.”

A lesson drilled into her from birth.

She nearly rolls her eyes at the thought. It’s so absurd to worry about, when there are actual issues in the world. But of course, those things are only paid attention to in their family when they needed to fix a fuck up. 

It bothers her to no end. The parts of her allowance that don’t go straight to savings for the moment her mother inevitably disowns her usually end up going to anyone she knows who might need it. If not that, then she does her research to find something that will take a large anonymous donation and will put it to good use. 

Heaven forbid the fact that she actually cares get out to the media. 

Nails click against a phone screen as her mother furiously types in the seat next to her. If Clarke cared more, she might try and catch a glimpse of who she’s texting. Or emailing. Depends on the security level of whatever she’s talking about. 

Clarke could give a shit, anymore. This life never entranced her before her father’s death, and it hardly does now. 

_It’s just for the summer,_ is her current mantra. Get to August, and she can head back to school, get away from this mess. For the following ten months. But then it’s back home. 

She could try and do a summer abroad next year… Abby might go for that. 

Culture, and whatnot. Gather enough photos to post to keep her mother happy for months, throw some shit about everything she learned through this life changing experience together. Boom. Abby’s happy, Clarke is gone. 

All too soon, they arrive at the venue, lights strung up all around, despite the fact that the sun won’t set for hours. 

Car after car pulls up to the valet, people in too expensive clothing stepping out, their noses upturned at the help.

Well, not quite literally. And not all of them. But they may as well. Even the milder ones tend to ignore everyone that doesn’t fit their standard of _high society._

Once upon a time she would have laughed at all of them with him. Shared secrets in the corners of overtly expensive hotel ballrooms. Stolen kisses in bathrooms and-

No. 

That will do nothing to help her get through this. 

_What’s done is done._

Say it ten times fast and Clarke might even start to believe it. 

Clarke flashes a grateful smile at the hand that helps her out of the car, but then it’s back to her iron mask as she takes up step next to her mother. They’re ambushed as soon as they’re out of the parking lot, old ‘friends’ come to catch up, ask Clarke about school, see if she’s finally studying something worthwhile. Grill her mother about potential business deals. 

The works. 

This is her entire life. From the moment she was born, this has been her legacy, her every waking moment. 

And yet she’s certain she will never grow used to it. 

After a few minutes of torture, Diyoza, her saving grace, whisks her into the actual venue, the sweltering heat of the summer fading away with just a moment of air conditioning. 

“You’re my favorite,” Clarke proclaims, grabbing a flute of champagne off a nearby platter. 

“Don’t start thinking I’m doing you any favors without getting something out of it.”

Clarke laughs, “Lord knows you would never. What’s up?” She knocks back the glass, under Diyoza’s disapproving scowl. 

The scowl drops, and her voice lowers to a whisper. “I need you to sweet talk your mom for me.” Clarke raises a brow, skeptical, “Oh don’t give me that look. She’s loaded, her influence is unbeatable, I need a couple favors, a couple donations.”

Clarke sobers, at that. The work Diyoza does is good. She’s built her nonprofit up from the ground herself, fighting everyone and everything in her way. 

“We’ve got a new project that we’re trying to roll out. But we’re short on money…” She trails off, throwing those stupid puppy eyes at her. 

“Just let me know how much you need. I’ll get it for you.”

Diyoza grins, “Oh you are a pearl. Thanks Clarke.” 

She nods as the woman struts away, probably seeking out her next victim. Clarke grabs another flute as she makes her way to the Jaha’s, seated at a table across the room. Wells lights up as he sees her, immediately matching her distance before pulling her into a hug. 

“If it isn’t the prodigal daughter,” he greets, a grin lighting up his face. Clarke slaps at his arm. 

“Oh hush, I could say the same about you.” Wells rolls his eyes. 

“I’m not so openly rebellious. Try again.” Clarke groans. 

“Whatever. How’s school going?”

He lights up again, leading her back to their table. “Things are good. I started seeing someone.”

Her ears perk up at that. Wells has been tentative about dating. Thelonius tends to sabotage most good things in his life, not excluding the people he’s dated. 

“Oh?”

He flushes, lowering his voice, “He was in my political science class last semester.”

“The one you hated?” Clarke fills in. 

“That was just because of the professor.” Clarke grins, filling in the gaps. He texted her from that class plenty of times, though the texts died off around March. She had just figured the content got harder and he’d actually _started_ paying attention. Though this makes more sense. Wells looks down, murmuring “His name is Roan.”

Clarke nearly bursts out laughing right there. 

“The guy from the group project. You hated him too!” She accuses. Wells glares at her, his lips tilting up betraying him, however. 

“People change,” he snaps. Clarke just stifles her laugh, gesturing for him to go on. “We’ve been texting over the last couple weeks since I left. He hates his mom or something, doesn’t go back during holidays.”

“You should’ve-”

“Do not finish that.” Clarke grins. 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Wells glares, but then his eyes dart over her shoulder and widen. 

“What-”

Clarke feels a tap on her shoulder, and looks over to see who it is. 

_Goddamnit._

~~

Clarke Griffin is the bane of Bellamy Blake’s existence. There’s no need for her to be as ostentatious as she is, no reason for her to hate him as much as she does. And yet she is, and she does. 

But he’s not one to disobey his mother, especially when there’s no real reason he can give his mother for his hatred of the woman. Well, nothing he wants to disclose to her. So when they get to the charity ball, and his mom pushes him toward where she’s sitting with Wells, he goes. 

Even if he knows it's more than likely she’s finally together with Wells. 

Whatever. This is just the rest of his life. Nothing important. 

Wells was never a fan of Bellamy’s. Part of that better-than-you rich kid attitude that he and Clarke were plagued with and too married to to recognize it for what it was. Heaven forbid his best friend befriend the kid that had begrudgingly ended up in this life. 

That, or Clarke had told him what was happening that year, and Wells had been jealous.

Wells was half in love with Clarke, even if she never saw it. 

How fitting, that this is where they would end up. 

Bellamy pulls the suit jacket tighter around him, as though it might provide protection from what he’s about to endure, meets Wells’ gaze with a smirk, and taps on Clarke’s shoulder. 

She freezes, before turning and meeting his eyes with a glare. 

“What do you want.” She crosses a leg over the other, arms folded over her chest. Defensive. 

He rolls his eyes. “Just the pleasure of your company, of course.” He ends it with a smirk, delicately placed on his face, even as everything else in him is screaming to get away. “Dance with me, Princess.”

The glare drops from her face at that, her arms dropping to her sides. “Don’t call me that,” she snarls, taking up her anger again. Anger, her best weapon against him. Because he could never be angry with her. Heartbroken because of her, yes. Disappointed, most days. 

Angry? Never. 

Anger is not an emotion reserved for someone you love. Hence all of their issues together. 

He gave more than she ever would be willing to. 

“And don’t tell me what to do.” She finishes, even as she stands and takes his extended hand, quickly dragging him to the dance floor not far from the Griffin/Jaha table. Her hand on his shoulder is stiff, their clasped hands rigid, even as he’s tempted to melt his hand into her hip, and pull her against him. 

God only knows how she’d react if he did _that._

Disgust, probably. More glares and angry words. It almost feels worth it, to see what she’d do, how easily he could break her composure. 

“Are you in town for the whole summer?” She asks. He startles, because for a brief moment, it’s almost like she cares. But then he remembers the outlined plan of a fucking relationship on his desk, annotated at home, and reminds himself she’s only doing this because she has to. Only asking to figure out how she might fit him into her life. 

“Most of it, yeah.”

She rolls his eyes at the vagueness. “I’m going to need a copy of your summer schedule made up and emailed to me by the end of the day tomorrow.”

“Still haven’t learned how to have fun, it seems.” He’s looking down when he says it, but when he meets her eyes she’s smiling, wide as can be. 

She pulls herself into him, even as his eyes are going wide, but then she stomps on his foot, “Cameras are here, asshole.”

For his mom, he can do this. Deal with Clarke and her entitled attitude, smile for the media, act in love. 

“And I’m plenty fun.” She adds, not meeting his gaze. 

He snorts, “Sure, if spreadsheets and _schedules_ are included.”

“I’m sorry I’m just trying to get us through this absolute hellhole of a summer. Let me make sure it’s _fun_ for you,” she fires back. 

“That’s not what I was insinuating.” He says, tone dry. 

“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes, but with another flash of a camera, he tightens his grip on her hip, pulling her toward him. A little gasp escapes from her lips. Eyes wide, she meets his gaze. He smirks, and she smiles. 

For a moment, it’s as if they’re back where they were two years ago, naively letting their love burn as bright as the sun. 

Her smile drops, though, dragging him back to the present. 

The song ends, and he walks with her back to Wells, a hand on the small of her back. She turns before she sits down, offering a sad smile that he doesn’t return. He’s spinning on his heel and moving like hell to get out of there as soon as she sits down. 

_Three months, Bellamy. Three months._

~~

 _we’re grabbing ice cream @ 3 today_ _  
__I’ll send over the address in a sec_

_Sorry?_

He deleted her number. Great. This is great. A fantastic way to start the day. 

_this is Clarke_

_Ah, should’ve known._

_I’m busy today._

_make time_

_You can’t order me around_

She doesn’t offer a response. It’s not like she’s particularly enthused about this either, but it’s necessary. Besides, it’s just for the summer. (And the rest of her life, if Abby gets what she wants.) If Clarke can deal with it, he sure as hell can. 

Clarke sets her phone down on the nightstand, rolling over, as though that might make it all go away. The rough timeline Aurora and Abby had drawn up is on her nightstand as well. She’d stayed up late last night studying it and filling in the calendar Bellamy had sent her. Just a few seemingly unimportant dates for the first month. Beach vacation for the first week of July, a couple fancy dinner dates there. A couple staged nights over at their house, and a proposal by August. Then it was back to school with a ring on her finger. Surely that wouldn’t deter her dating prospects. 

Not that she had any, really. Freshman year had been well… his. Sophomore and junior year consisted of random hook-ups with unnamed bodies. 

Hence her current position. Tabloids had caught word of her ‘party girl ways’ and had mercilessly attacked her and by extension, Abby, for months. Not that she _cared_ but Abby had. Public image had taken a hit, obviously, and Abby had insisted she ‘reign it in’ for the last few months, making sure she knew they’d discuss her behavior when she came home for the summer. 

A long conversation about her future had ensued, followed by demands that she do better, and then an explanation of the plan she had concocted. 

Kudos to Abby, honestly. It was perfect, using both of them to help both families. On the Blake's end it would establish their place in this fucked up society they wanted to be a part of so desperately. On Abby, er, Clarke’s side of things, it patches up her image with a pretty little bow on top. 

It was so _funny_ honestly, because no one had any idea about what had gone on their freshman year. No one knew why Bellamy had insisted he transfer for the next year. The only person she’d told had been Wells, and based on the glares she received from Octavia any time she had the misfortune of attending the same event as her, he’d disclosed their relationship to his sister as well. 

Clarke didn’t know Octavia, but clearly she could keep a secret well, if it had never leaked. 

So yeah, the four of them in opposite ends of a bubble of secrets, everyone pissed at the other group. What a downright _lovely_ event their wedding would be, with all that between them. 

Clarke hauls herself to the shower, spending more time scrubbing and shaving and moisturizing than is necessary, probably. Because she doesn’t care, truly. This is just another role forced on her by her mother for sake of her allowance and not going into crippling debt. Easy. 

She grabs a piece of toast from downstairs, quickly making her way back upstairs to finish getting ready. Delicately, she applies a makeup look that screams future-senators-daughter, and then collapses onto the couch in her room with a book. An alarm set for 2, she lets herself be absorbed by the words in front of her.

~~

“How’d you get dear old mommy to agree to this little scheme?” He shoots with a smirk, not even two seconds after sitting down at the little ice cream parlor Clarke had chosen.

She sighs, _don’t let him get to you, don’t let him get to you._ Masterfully, she plasters a smile on her face, but all the same bites back, “I’m here out of obligation, same as you.”

They’re seated right inside the store, the sun glaring through the window. It heats her arm in the cold shop, but more importantly, it makes for a mystical, romantic shot from anyone outside. If she’s lucky, though, the cameras won’t hit for at least fifteen minutes. 

He leans back in the booth, arms crossing over his chest. “Is that why you so eagerly texted me this morning?”

God, must he be so difficult? “Is this really the tone you want to set for the next three months? Because this can be really excruciating, or we can recognize that neither of us wants this, and get through it. Your choice, Blake.” She sneers it, but quickly refocuses her smile. He doesn’t say anything, just angrily digs into the ice cream in front of him. 

Clarke rolls her eyes, placing a well timed kick at his leg across from her. He grimaces. “At least look happy. Make this easier on all of us.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” He mocks, “I never went to the Griffin school of etiquette. Perhaps you could remind me how to act in public? What lesson was that? Bullshitting the people around you into thinking you’re perfect?”

“I’m not trying to make _anyone_ think I’m perfect, least of all you. I’m _trying_ to make sure my mother doesn’t chew my head off tonight for not looking in love enough.”

He sobers at that, surprisingly. “Whatever,” he murmurs, looking down into the dish in front of him. 

Then, “How’s school going?”

A proffered olive branch, it would seem. 

“Good,” she starts slowly, feeling out what he wants from her. He’s silent, but meets her gaze, as though expecting an elaboration. “I have an internship next year, at a children’s hospital. One of my professors knows the director of the art therapy department over there and got me an interview. Then I start my masters program” She regrets the words as soon as she says them. Privileged, he’ll say. Accuse her of having everything handed to her.

But… he smiles. A seemingly real smile. “That’s really great, Clarke.”

It’s enough to send her cheeks flaming red. 

She misses him. Plain and simple. Misses her best friend who called her out on her ignorance and bias, challenged her to a better person. Without him, she never would have stood up to her mother. He’s the reason she switched her major, found something that made her feel alive again. 

“How are things going for you?”

He gets quiet again, looking down. 

“Better than they have for a while.” He lets the implications of that sit in the air while he pushes his spoon around the mostly melted ice cream. 

She reaches her hand out, places it over his. Bellamy looks up and offers a small smile, and her heart aches-

They’re interrupted by a flash outside the window. Anger clouds his eyes, but he keeps the meek expression on his face, as though they’re sharing a sweet moment together. Which, they were. 

And this, this is why she’d never told anyone but Wells. Why they’d decided to keep things a secret, all those years ago. It was worlds easier. Part of it was the sneaking around, to begin with, the intrigue of that, but within a month that had melted away. Clarke told him about Finn, in high school. How even though that relationship never would have lasted anyways, the metaphorical target on her back made it impossible to have anything worthwhile. Her every move was watched, by her mother and the world. So even if he hadn’t been an asshole, it was too complicated and frustrating to go anywhere. 

Now, though, it’d be worse. 

Clarke pulls her hand away, offering a sad smile. 

“Ready to go?”

He nods, that anger still there, but more guarded this time. He walks her to the SUV parked outside, Lincoln waiting for whenever she needed to leave. Well aware of the camera’s around them, he places a kiss on her cheek, before closing the door and heading towards his own car. 

Even though the windows are heavily tinted, she watches as he goes. 

It feels all too similar to that last date they’d had. When everything had blown up. 

~~

“Do you think what we have will work?” Clarke asks, staring down into her phone as she scrolls through the ridiculous selfies they just took. 

Bellamy just grunts, holding a hand up to his forehead, combating the bright afternoon sun. 

“Can you at least pretend to be helpful?”

He grunts again, more for his amusement than anything this time. She’s so _easy_ to rile up. When they were-

Nope. Not going down that road. Again. 

“I despise you.” She says, though there’s no real power to the words. Finally, she sends off the text, turning to him. “We can go as soon as they respond.”

He snorts. “I did not come all the way out here for nothing.” He gestures to the basket at her hip. “Your mom packed food, I’d hate for that to go to waste.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes, but hands the basket to him, taking a seat on the picnic table nearest them. 

“Are you going to eat?” He asks between bites. 

She shakes her head, intently staring anywhere but _him._ Figures, that she can’t stand the sight of him. “‘M not hungry.”

Her phone buzzes on the table next to her. She holds it up to him, an edited picture of the two of them, one of the first they’d taken. His heart speeds up at the sight. There’s a picture he never took out of his wallet. One he’d taken of her late October. Sunglasses poised on her nose, a soft smile on her lips. She’d laughed when she’d found it printed and placed there. 

He never remembered to take it out. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself. 

He pulls his wallet out now, mid bite, traces the lines of her smile with his eyes. The woman in front of him is so different. Heavier, almost as though she carries a darkness with her now. Her dad died the summer after they broke up, so it makes sense, he supposes. When he’d heard, he’d been tempted to reach out. He knows how close they were, and even as he’d been heartbroken enough because of her, that instinct to take care of her hadn’t yet died. As though there’s a magnetic force drawing him to her, he looks up. 

It hasn’t really died, even now. 

Even as she looks at him with anger in her eyes, he wants nothing more than to pull her into his arms and make it better. But it’s not his fault they fell apart. 

Another thing he doesn’t yet believe. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, looking back at him, a laugh on her lips. 

He purses his lips. “Nothing.” A pause. “Just… thinking.”

She gives him a curious look, but turns back to looking out over the park. 

He walks her back to her car afterwards, a hand on her back that he can’t convince himself isn’t necessary. Electricity courses through that touch, on his end anyway. The love of his life, right in front of him.

The summer after, he’d tried hard to convince himself she wasn’t anything important to him. 

Eventually he’d come to terms with the fact that if soulmates existed, she was his. Though, he clearly wasn’t hers, if she was so unaffected by all this. That’s why he’d poked and prodded, trying for a reaction. And instead he’d gotten next to nothing. 

~~

The people that handle Clarke’s socials post the selfie, captioning it “Great day with a great guy<3” It’s so cheesy Clarke could laugh. 

Abby’s disappointed when Clarke reports back, to say the least. Apparently she has these grand visions of them falling in love, or whatnot. Likely a justification for doing this to begin with. 

Clarke nearly snorts when she says it. _If only she knew._ A near constant thought in her head since she’s been home. The picnic is followed by a night out at a restaurant her dad had taken them out to anytime they’d had something to celebrate. Abby doesn’t show any hint of recognition when she recites the name.

Not that Clarke should be surprised. When Jake passed, Abby had seemed content to destroy every bit of evidence of him ever existing. The framed photos were thrown out, his office carefully gone through, every document shredded.

She’d sobbed for weeks. But mourning is _unbecoming,_ Clarke. 

She shakes it off, zips into another dress worth far too much, and makes it through her daughterly duties. 

Wells comes over afterwards, offering up a shitty bottle of wine. 

“How was it?”

Clarke groans, jokingly glaring at him. “How do you think it went?”

“Horribly,” he says, a smirk on his lips. 

Clarke chucks a pillow his way that he narrowly avoids. 

“Sit down, asshole.” He does, and Clarke queues up the first thing she finds on netflix, more for background noise than anything. 

“Tell me about it,” he says, collapsing into the bean bag chair across from her. 

“It’s just weird. Like, we haven’t really talked. About anything?” Wells nods. “I don’t even know what to say to him. We haven’t talked in two years, and it’s not like things were great the last time. He’s clearly still mad, but doesn’t want to tell me why.” She heaves a heavy sigh. “Whatever. I just need to get over it, you know? This isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened. I just need to get through it.”

Wells looks heartbroken when she looks up again. 

“You know you deserve better than this, right?”

Clarke raises a skeptical eyebrow, but he pushes forward. “You can tell her no. You don’t have to do this.”

It’s true, probably. But Clarke has no interest in disobeying Abby again. The fallout last time was horrible enough. 

“It’s easier to go through with it.”

“But-”

“Tell me about Roan,” she interrupts, a plea in her eyes to drop it. He does, and she spends the rest of the night teasing him as he gushes over texts. 

The rest of the month carries much the same, an endless cycle of believing this might end happily, and having that dream crushed by the cold reality of another outing with him. They go see a new movie, hands clasped between them, and are bombarded by cameras on the way out. All orchestrated by Abby, down to the exact second they need to smile. His face sets in a scowl once they’re in the car, knuckles white against the steering wheel as he drives her home. 

Needless to say, nothing improves. Bringing them to July, and with it, the week long trip Abby had booked. The flight isn’t as awkward as Clarke was anticipating, even though Abby insists at the last minute that they take Lincoln and Anya, the Blake’s chef, with them. In the name of not having to cook on vacation, though Clarke knows Bellamy enjoys it. She can’t say that, of course, can’t air the idea forming in her head of the two of them cooking again, the ways she’d distract him, the things that happened on said kitchen counters-

Clarke shakes her head, focusing instead on the sight racing behind the rental car windows. There’s an air of relaxation, even if the root reason for being here is stressful. Bellamy’s sitting next to her, and even as she’s conscious of the fact they ought to keep up appearances in front of Lincoln and Anya, she’s too exhausted to care. He does, however, grab her bags from the back of the car. 

The house is stunning, and a beachfront property too. Lincoln gives them a weird look when they head in opposite directions at the top of the stairs. He gestures with his head toward where Bellamy is headed. 

“The master’s that way.” 

And suddenly the insistence that they take other people with them makes sense. 

Clarke gulps, but follows behind Bellamy to the _master suite._ The house Abby so _lovingly_ picked out only has three bedrooms. Clarke hadn’t thought anything of it at the time-

But of course that was before she’d known they were taking other people with them. 

Bellamy drops the bags on the bed, immediately turning to close the door, before facing her, arms crossed over his chest. 

“You did this.” He accuses. 

Clarke glares, throwing her hands up. “I had nothing to do with this, and you would know that if you ever bothered to try and talk to me.”

“I’m listening.” He throws. “Talk, princess.”

“About what?” She says, far too loud, considering their _housemates._ “What do you want me to say? You’ve given me no idea what you’re thinking about, no idea what you even want me to tell you.”

“How about the truth?”

“The _what?_ ”

“You heard me.” He steps back, putting his weight on his back foot. “Why’d you start all of this?”

Clarke throws her hands up, “I didn’t start any of this, I already told you that. God, why are you so arrogant?” She places her hands on her hips, “Why do you think I’m so obsessed with you, anyways? We dated two long years ago. I’m over it.” She snaps. 

It hurts to say, when every inch of her knows she will never be over Bellamy Blake. But the flash of hurt in his eyes, that’s unexpected. 

“You are?” He asks, voice small. 

“Why are you asking me?” Tears blur the edge of her vision. “You’re the one that broke up with me. Shouldn’t _you_ be over it?”

“I only broke up with you because I wasn’t enough for you,” he snaps, that fire back in his eyes. “I have no interest in being second to Wells my entire life.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid, princess.” He smirks, malice behind it. 

“Don’t call me that.” She retorts, poison in her voice. 

“Don’t ignore the question.”

“I’ve never thought about Wells that way. You of all people should know that.” _What the hell is he talking about?_

“Sure, maybe not _Wells_ specifically, but I was never going to be enough for you. You’d find another person that fit into your world better and move on.”

“You were my world!” She exclaims. The moment it’s out in the air, she wants to take it back. This is the kind of vulnerability that can only hurt her. But his hands drop, and his anger cools. 

Her eyes go wide, and dart to the bags on the bed. She snatches hers up, and storms into the ensuite bathroom, promptly collapsing on the ground. 

It’s like she’s back to that summer. Not even her dad could get her out of it. She’d been so excited to go home, and tell him _everything._ The way she’d changed her major, the new path she’d chosen, the love she’d found. 

When she’d gone over to his apartment that last time, she was about to ask him to come home with her, if for a few weeks. The idea of being apart from him for the entire summer made her soul _ache_ and then he’d opened the door with the most heartbroken expression she’d ever seen. 

And promptly broken up with her. 

It had hit so hard, so fast, she can hardly recall the reason he’d given. She’d called bullshit at first, insisting he couldn’t do that. But then he’d made her leave. Didn’t respond to any of her texts or calls. It was a miracle she’d gotten through finals. 

And then she’d packed up her stuff and gotten onto the plane home, staring helplessly out the window as they’d taken off, convinced he would do something. 

The next time she saw him was at the charity banquet in June. He’d grown a beard since she’d last seen him. It fit him, made him look like the old soul she’d always known him to be. She supposed she looked different too. The first thing she’d done after her dad passed that summer was dye her hair bright red. It was a shitty box dye that she’d made Wells do. He’d shaken his head but done it anyways, with minimal complaint. He’d been all too apt to do anything she’d wanted that summer. Even if it was getting blackout drunk in the media room at her house most of the time. 

The red came out, but the heartbreak hadn’t healed. So she’d chopped her hair. She hadn’t kept it short, it was almost back to its original length. Her _princess hair_ as Bellamy had called it, playing with strands between his fingers as they’d lain in bed. 

So many things she could never have again. Bellamy, her dad. Happiness. 

“Clarke?” Bellamy calls, rapping his knuckles on the bathroom door. Clarke pushes the tears out of her eyes, standing up to pull her bikini on. 

“One second.” She responds. She’s changed in a minute, and pushes past him out of the bedroom, depositing her bag by the bedroom door. 

“Clarke,” he says, voice soft. He grabs her wrist. 

She could give in to that touch. If she wanted. Turn back and bury herself in his chest. But then she’d have to leave, or he’d push her away, and her heart would break all over again. So, she collects herself, pulls her wrist away, and runs out the front yard to the beach. 

~~

Bellamy has no fucking clue what to do about their sleeping arrangement. He has no interest in sleeping on the floor, but he’s certain Clarke has no reason to want to sleep in the same bed as him. Not after their fight this afternoon. 

He avoids her the rest of the day, though it’s easy, considering she’s avoiding him too. 

He offers to help Anya with dinner. No, he insists she take the night off while he cooks, but she just laughs. 

“You can help, if you want.” 

She sets him up chopping vegetables, while she measures ingredients for a sauce. 

“Trouble in paradise?” She questions, back to him. 

“What?”

“With Clarke?” She prompts. 

“Oh yeah. She’s just… dealing with some family pressure. Needs some space right now.”

He has no idea what he says to prompt her next statement. “You really like her, though?”

That baffles him. “Yeah.” He stumbles. “Yeah, I really do.” Forcing some fondness into his voice. 

“I’m happy for you, Bellamy.”

“Thanks- thank you.” He says, focusing on _not_ chopping his fingers off. _What the hell?_

“I’m not sure what Octavia’s problem with her is, though.”

He nearly chokes with that. 

“Well, you know Octavia. She’s never excited about change.”

Anya nods thoughtfully. She grabs the cutting board from under him, and the knife clean out of his hand. 

“Why don’t you go talk to her? I think she’s still out on the beach.” He nods, still trying to catch up to the conversation. 

Is he that obviously in love with her? Is that a bad thing, given their roles?

She’s not on the beach, however. He doesn’t see her until that night, making up an anecdote about her not feeling well at dinner. He gets ready for bed, and grabs a book out of his suitcase. She stumbles in after a chapter or two. Still in that goddamned bikini. 

She eyes him for a moment, before offering something that resembles a smirk and reaching behind her. 

“Clarke what are you-” 

And then she drops the top. 

“Princess,” he urges, jumping out of the bed. “What are you doing?” She takes a step toward him, her hands landing on his shoulders. 

“Seducing you,” she says, the smell of alcohol heavy on her breath. 

“Were you drinking out on the beach?” 

She nods, but pouts. “You’re supposed to kiss me, Bell.”

“Not with you drunk, I’m not. Let’s get you ready for bed, yeah?” 

“Don’t wanna go to bed,” she murmurs, pressing her face into his neck, and her tits up against him. “Want you to fuck me.”

 _Good god._

Clarke usually got horny when she was drunk. Of course, that was when they were _dating,_ so it didn’t complicate things quite so much. It was funny then, a game of getting her to sober up. By the time she’d get home, she was falling asleep too soon for anything to happen. 

But this isn’t a college party. This is them, frozen in a past life that won’t ever exist again. 

All the same, he guides her to the bathroom, helping her step into a pair of sleep shorts and pulling a tank top over her head, pretending he isn’t half hard. 

She’s nearly asleep when he tucks her in. He fully plans on heading downstairs to the couch, damn the questions he’ll get in the morning, but she holds onto his hand, pleading eyes staring into his. “Will you hold me?”

And because he’s a weak man, he crawls in behind her, taking whatever piece he gets. 

She curls into his chest. “I still love you,” she says, the words slurring the tiniest bit. He runs his fingers through her hair, not offering a response, lest she remember this in the morning. 

~~

They don’t talk about it, the next day. Clarke frantically checks everything she can to see if anything about her… afternoon on the beach shows up. But she’s in the clear. 

After breakfast, they both grab books and head down to the beach. 

“No camera’s yesterday?” He asks. She nods, and that’s the entirety of their conversations for the day. They have a dinner reservation that night. She does her makeup and hair while he reads in the bedroom. 

She closes her eyes as she zips up the dress, steeling herself for what's to come. 

“You ready to go?” She asks, peeking her head around the corner. 

He nods. 

The car ride is silent, but he thanks Lincoln as they step out, taking her hand. Butterflies flutter in her stomach, though she quells them under the pretense of all of this being fake. 

But-

He’d held her last night. Granted, he hadn’t kissed her. And drunk Clarke had been devastated. But even when they’d dated, he wouldn’t have. 

All day, she’s been toying with the idea, the _what if’s._ A byproduct of waking up in his arms, most likely. 

Mornings have been hell, since that summer. Always waking up to remember all the loss. Even when she’s back at school, things are never great. 

This morning, however, had been like a gift from the universe. For once, she’d felt peace as she woke. 

Even as she despised her mother’s plotting, perhaps this would be a reprieve of a week. 

The host guides them to a table, and a moment later, their server shows up. She introduces herself as Roma, throws an over-the-top smile Bellamy’s way, and lists the specials. 

Bellamy smirks, sitting back in his chair. “What’s your favorite?”

The girl smiles impossibly wider, angling away from Clarke as she speaks. 

Bellamy pretends to take it into consideration. But it’s all an act. Clarke should know. 

“We’ll just have waters for now, thanks,” Clarke interjects, throwing a glare at the girl. She grabs the menu, “That’s a new low, even for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clarke drops the menu, meeting his gaze. “Just never thought I would see you flirting with someone else on a date. Guess I spoke too soon.”

“Oh give me a break.” He sighs. “You know this is all fake, right?”

“There’s appearances to keep up, _Bellamy.”_ She spits. 

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles, before snapping his own menu up in front of him, a clear dismissal. 

“I don’t care if you fuck her, just make sure she keeps quiet about it.” 

He poises to say something, but drops it. 

_One point to Clarke._

She tries not to be bothered by it, when Roma comes back to take their orders. It’s just another reminder that he’s over her, and she’s been living in delusion since last night. He smiles at her, and technically he has smiled _around_ her since all of this started. But she wasn’t the cause of those, and either way, they were fake. 

Nothing like the way he’s smiling softly now as he orders. 

She grits her teeth, balling her hands into fists, waiting for the girl to leave. But she doesn’t, and they keep _talking,_ nevermind that she’s at work and Clarke hasn’t ordered. So she grabs her purse from next to her and beelines for the bathroom. No one’s in there, and it’s a single, so she locks the door behind her as she pulls out her phone. 

_He’s flirting with the waitress at the restaurant we’re at_

_He’s what?_

_Yeah, i know_

_I will personally fly there right now to knee him in the balls_

_Just say the word, Griffin_

She laughs, despite herself.

_Do you want to talk about why you’re jealous?_

_I’m not jealous!_

_Clarke…_

_I’m not._

_Whatever you say_

_You are no help_

Wells sends back a middle finger emoji. Cute. 

Clarke shoots off a text to Lincoln, just as someone knocks on the door. She slips out, sees Roma still at their table, and heads for the back entrance of the restaurant. Lincoln pulls up just as she makes her way back to the front, and doesn’t question as she gets in the car. 

_Where’d you go?_

From Bellamy. She rolls her eyes, ignores the pang in her heart, and the text altogether. 

_Don’t ignore me_

_Are you in the bathroom still?_

_Are you not feeling well?_

_Clarke?_

_I’m coming over there_

There’s a lapse of silence, and then. 

_Fuck you are not in the bathroom_

_Just got yelled at by an old lady_

_Did you leave?_

_Clarke come on_

The texts make her skin crawl. Because if she puts herself back to freshman year, this would’ve been a conversation they’d have had. But she can’t put the goddamn phone down, and instead watches intently as they come in. 

_Lincoln says he picked you up_

_How’d you get his number?_

_Oh now you respond_

_Your mom gave it to me_

_I’m not feeling well_

_Enjoy the rest of your night_

_What?_

_I already told you I don’t care if you go home with Roma_

_Just don’t fuck things up for this_

_I’m not going home with her_

Clarke rolls her eyes, again, even as tears start spilling down her face. Lincoln drops her off at the house, promptly pulling out of the driveway. Presumably to take Bellamy somewhere. She heads upstairs, opening the balcony doors to the soft fading light of the sun. The bath in the master is huge, and she’d wondered if she’d get time to use it. 

So, she runs a bath, finding bubbles under the sink. She throws up her hair and sinks in, letting out a breath as she does. She throws on a random playlist, and lets herself relax. She’ll always feel like she has to be on around Bellamy. Especially now. The easy way she once had with him is long gone, the magic of that shattered with their relationship, still laying in fragments in that apartment. 

Just as she’s starting to drift off, the bedroom door opens, and she hadn’t shut the door to the bathroom. Bellamy’s turns, and meets her gaze, eyes wide. 

“What are you doing back?” She asks, desperately trying to ignore the fact that she’s _naked._ Besides, it’s far less than he saw last night. 

He startles. “Um. I-uh.” His eyes dart all over the place. “Just got back from the restaurant?”

“Is that a question?” She prompts, eyebrow quirked. 

“No.” He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t.”

“Will you throw my bag in here and close the door?”

He nods, but asks, “Why didn’t you do that before you got in?”

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

“Clarke,” he starts. “You can’t honestly have thought I was going to go home with her.”

“I’ve seen you flirt before.” She snaps. “I know how it ends.”

“It was a joke. I was bored. I wanted to see how you’d react.”

“It wasn’t funny.” 

He throws his hands up. “God, lighten up.”

 _A joke._ Please, she’s well aware that Roma was exactly his type. 

“Just close the fucking door.”

He sighs, but does so. 

~~

She wakes up the next morning with his arm thrown over her waist and one of his legs slotted through hers. Truly, they both fall asleep on opposite ends of the bed. But he is home, and she’s hardly surprised her body recognizes that. 

Bellamy’s half asleep, but, “Do you want to talk about why you were jealous of Roma?” He asks, with his lips right above her ear. 

Her heart stops. She swallows. 

“I wasn’t.”

Lie, lie, lie. 

“Mmm.” He tightens his hold on her. It's intoxicating, is what it is. She has absolutely no interest in getting up. Ever. “We should talk, princess.”

She closes her eyes. “We don’t have to.”

“Give me this, yeah?” He runs a hand through her air, entangling the knots formed in sleep. Her weakness, and he knows it. “I think you don’t like the idea of me with someone else.”

She freezes. 

“And I think,” he pauses. “I feel the same way.”

Trepidatiously, her eyes meet his. And then his lips are surging to meet hers. 

And if she thought being held by him was addicting, dear god, this is a thousand times more so. Lazily, they trade kisses for a few minutes, before he rolls her onto her back, pulling back. 

“This okay?” He asks, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. 

She responds with her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her again. Slowly, his lips make their way across her jaw, down her neck. His hand skims up and down her torso, but she grows impatient, whining as she pulls his hand down to the hem of her tank top. 

“Needy little thing,” he says, smiling, as he pulls it up and off her. His eyes take her in, as though it's their first time all over again. Reverence, and if she looks hard enough, love, in his eyes. “There’s my princess.” He places a kiss in the valley of her breasts, teasing her. 

His eyes meet hers, before he slips a nipple into his mouth. She gasps, a hand going to the sheets, the other to his arm, as he back arches up to meet him. 

He lets his teeth skim, every breath and motion going straight to her clit. 

“Bell,” she begs. She’s fucking soaking and he’s hardly touched her. He pulls back. 

“What does my princess need?”

She glares as he smirks. “Shirt off.” She demands. He obliges her. 

He kisses her again, but she’s wound up now, needs him inside her, filling her up. Her hands go to his boxes, pushing them down. Her hands go to his cock, swirling her thumb around the tip. He moans over her, before grabbing her hand, and holding it after her head. 

“Naughty princess,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me,” she responds. He curses, but pulls down her shorts nonetheless. He runs a finger through her slit. 

“Shit, Clarke.” She smirks at him, and then he’s slipping inside her, and it’s everything and too much all at once. Her hand at the back of his neck slides up into his hair, holding him just above her. 

For a moment, he’s still, and they are the beginning and end. A full circle of heartbreak and finding each other through some divine force. 

Nothing else matters. And then he starts moving.

And _fuck_ she missed him for a plethora of other reasons, but this is a damn good one. He knows her better than anyone else has, fills her up better than anyone does. 

Not to mention the way his mouth runs. 

“That’s it princess, that’s perfect.” His thrusts turn desperate and needy, and all too soon she’s coming. He slows down as she clenches around him, a soft kiss on her forehead coaxing her through it. It’s the best orgasm she’s had in a good year. Slowly, she comes back up out of it, and then he’s thrusting into her again. 

His grunts get louder, and his words less coherent, and she knows he’s on the edge. Her grip on his hair tightens, and she leans up to whisper in his ear.

That has him tumbling over the edge, ever so carefully collapsing next to her. 

He gets his bearings back, and pulls her to him. Places a kiss on her shoulder, behind her ear. Clarke lets her eyes fall shut, leaning her head back against his shoulder. He chuckles. 

“That’s my princess.”

She mewls, turning around in his arms. In turn, she kisses his shoulder, before burying her face in his neck. “I missed you.”

His arms tighten around her. “Missed you too.”

His hand running up and down her back coaxes her back to sleep, and she wakes up a couple hours later, to see him watching her. 

Clarke stretches, quickly snuggling back into his side. But, she can’t help asking the question plaguing her thoughts. “Was that a good idea?”

He stiffens, but she tries to place a reassuring hand on his arm. “I just mean - we haven’t talked.” Her eyes grow sad. “How is this going to work?”

He relaxes, once again rubbing her back. 

“I don’t know princess. We can figure it out though.”

Tears prick the edge of her eyes. “All we’ve done this summer is fight. How do you know that?” She pleads. 

He pushes her hair behind her ear, placing another immensely tenderly kiss on her forehead. 

“I know,” a kiss to the tip of her nose, “because I know what happened before was stupid.” A kiss to her cheek, “And I know what life is like without you, and I don’t intend to live that way again.”

She reaches up to place her lips on his, a happiness that feels like home surging through her. They make plans for the day, lazily getting ready for the day, interrupting each other with kisses and hands running over waists and shoulders. Eventually, they make their way downstairs, where breakfast sits cold on the table. Anya eyes them suspiciously from the couch. 

“Looks like you two had a good morning.” Bellamy laughs as Clarke’s face flames up. 

“Thanks for cooking,” he throws back. She nods, turning back to the tablet in her hand. 

They eat, and then head out for the day, sans Lincoln. 

It feels real, as he walks with her, hand in hand along the boardwalk. Like he knows there are cameras but doesn’t care. They play a couple games, take a spin on the ferris wheel, and the entire time, it feels as though it’s just the two of them. The occasional flash hardly bothers her. The entire day feels like bliss. 

The rest of the week follows much the same, as though they’re in a bubble here, protected from the rest of the world. Clarke refuses to check her phone beyond the texts, because for a moment, she can pretend this is hers, that she doesn’t share him with the rest of the world. 

The week ends all too quickly though. Bellamy holds her hand in the car, through the airport, let’s her fall asleep on his shoulder on the flight. 

Her heart races as they walk up the aisle of the plane. He holds to her hand steadfastly, but she can’t help feeling as though everything’s going to fall apart. 

He squeezes her hand, as though he can hear her thoughts. The group makes their way to the car they’d left in long term parking. Anya and Lincoln talk quietly in the front seat. Clarke’s hardly paying attention, holding tight to Bellamy’s hand, even now. 

“Are you okay?” He asks.

She nods, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He lets go of her hand to wrap his arm around her waist. 

“Why don’t you come over Monday? Give you some time to unpack, and then we can talk.” His voice is gentle, and everything that he hasn’t been this entire summer. 

But this, this is Bellamy. _Her_ Bellamy. 

Clarke walks up to the front door with him when they get to the Blake’s house. Anya heads in before them, offering a moment alone on the porch. Bellamy drops his duffel bag, promptly pulling her into his arms. She lets herself melt, as he places his lips on hers. Eventually, he pulls back, resting his forehead on hers. 

“I’ll see you Monday, okay?” She nods, and kisses him one last time before heading back to the car. 

~~

The stars in the sky glisten as Bellamy murmurs myths relating to the constellations in her ear. His hand sits in the back pocket of her jeans, the other wrapped around her shoulder. 

The ground is rough beneath them, but the blanket offers some reprieve. 

Bellamy wraps up a story, and they lay in silence for a few moments. “We should get going,” he suggests. 

Clarke burrows into his chest, grumbling. 

“It’s going to get cold, princess. And then you’ll be mad at me.” he insists, voice light with humor. 

“I would never.” She says, voice filled with mock offense. “I have no idea why you would think that.” He just shakes his head, but pulls her closer to him. 

“Guess I’ll just have to keep you warm, then.”

Clarke makes a noise of content, letting her eyes flutter closed. Bellamy resumes his storytelling, pointing out the constellations as he goes. 

Ultimately, it’s Bellamy that complains about the cold, not Clarke. He drags her behind him to the car they brought, the blanket draped over his arm. 

“It’s not my fault. You were stealing all my warmth.” He defends. 

Clarke sticks her tongue out at him. “It’s the middle of the summer, it’s hardly that cold.”

He mocks glares at her before closing her door, taking up the driver's seat. She intertwines her hand with his, over the gearshift, once he gets on the road. 

“That was fun,” she comments on a yawn. He squeezes her hand, looking over at where she’s curled up in her seat, the blanket thrown over her lap. 

“Not cold, huh?” He teases. She makes an indignant face. “Yeah, it was fun.”

Clarke picks at a threadbare piece of the blanket, trying to soothe the anxiety as she musters up some courage. “I told my mom I was staying at yours tonight.”

“Oh?” He offers no inclination towards his thoughts on his face. 

“Yeah.” She continues picking at the blanket. He pulls the back of her hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss there. 

“You’re always welcome to stay.” She relaxes back into her seat at that, as he lets their hands drop again. 

“What are we going to do after the summer?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” she trails off, letting her eyes settle on the lights racing past outside her window. “We’re not in the same place anymore.”

“It’s only a five hour drive.”

“Yeah, but that’s not exactly pleasant to do in the middle of the semester.”

He nods. “We’ll make it work.” 

It all seems so simple, so easy, when he says it. So she drops it. 

They both collapse next to each other when they get home, too tired to do much else. 

~~

Clarke gets up before him, placing a quick kiss on his forehead before pulling on a pair of his shorts and following the smell of coffee. Octavia’s seated at the counter, her phone haphazardly sitting in her hand as she sips from a mug. She looks up at her footsteps, eyes her carefully. 

Clarke gestures to the coffee pot, “Is it cool if I grab some?”

“I don’t know, did _Bellamy_ say it was okay?” The girl snarls. 

“He’s asleep,” Clarke says, confused. 

“Then I guess you’ll have to wait for him to wake up.” Octavia hops off the counter, meeting Clarke’s eyes as she grabs the pot, pouring it into the sink. 

“Did I do something to you?” 

“No, you did something to _him.”_

“He broke up with me,” Clarke says, throwing her arms over her chest. 

“Save it,” Octavia snaps. 

“For _who_?”

“Just because he buys your lies, doesn’t mean I’m just going to welcome you with open arms.”

“What are we talking about?” Clarke exclaims, indignant. 

Octavia just smirks, as arms slip around Clarke’s waist from behind her. 

Bellamy kisses her, right behind her ear, causing Clarke to squirm a bit. Octavia just looks disgusted by the whole display. 

Bellamy settles, before turning his gaze on Octavia. “Are you causing issues?” 

She just offers a poisoned smile. “Never,” she drawls. “Have a good day, you two.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Clarke wide eyed and confused. 

“You disappeared.” He says, stepping around her to grab the discarded coffee pot. 

“Yeah, I was going to make coffee.” Clarke says, still dazed. 

Bellamy frowns. “What happened?”

Clarke just shakes her head. “Octavia and I were just talking.”

“About?” He prompts.

“You.” 

Clarke hops onto the counter, watching as he grabs clean mugs, and the creamer she got him addicted to when they were dating. 

He makes them breakfast, and then drives her back home to shower and change. She leaves him in the living room, but when she hops out of the shower, he’s sitting on her bed. 

“Your mother terrifies me.” 

Clarke giggles, smacking a kiss to his lips before grabbing a pair of jeans and shirt to throw on. 

July follows much the same, the tone of the trip following them throughout. They spend nearly every day together, much to Wells chagrin. Clarke just laughs and tells him to invite Roan to stay for a few weeks, causing him to look down in embarrassment. 

And then August hits. Abby and Aurora stage a dinner out with both of their families. A photo of all of them is taken, posted by Bellamy, and they run the front page of news cycles for a week. In hushed whispers at the table, the two moms both make proposal plans. Bellamy doesn’t meet her eyes while they talk, intently making conversation with Octavia, leaving Clarke to awkwardly look around the restaurant. 

He doesn’t say anything about it, when he calls her that night. And she doesn’t ask. 

He’s colder, those next few days. Not as bad as the beginning of the summer… but still holding her at a distance. 

She tells herself it doesn’t hurt. And really, she understands. It’s an odd reminder that this wasn’t their choice, that even if this feels real, to some degree it isn’t.

But then he’s back to himself. A week out from proposal day, she heads over to their house, grabbing takeout on the way over. He meets her at the front door, placing a quick kiss on her lips, grabbing the bag from her hand. 

“You’re my favorite,” he tells her as he dishes everything up. 

She just smirks. “You know they put it in those boxes so you can eat out of them.”

“There’s a higher propensity for messes that way. You should know that.” She laughs, but takes the plate he offers her, following him to the living room. They curl up and watch a couple movies. After the second or third, Clarke goes to the linen closet to grab a blanket, and comes back to Bellamy scrolling through his phone. She sits back next to him, throwing the blanket over their laps. 

“What are you looking at?” She asks, as she scrolls through the netflix queue. 

“Twitter.” 

“Something important?” She teases. He doesn’t respond, just offers a slight smile. “I’m thinking I want a disney movie.” 

Again, just nods. 

And then he offers her his phone. She quirks an eyebrow quizzically, but takes it. He’s opened to an article, about some couple it would seem. 

Oh. 

Them. 

That’s a picture of them. 

It’s talking about them. 

The first few paragraphs are cute, talking about their ‘whirlwind summer romance’ but then it gets to now. A reliable source, it would seem, has contacted them about the engagement to take place before they separate again for school. 

Bellamy’s stiffened beside her, nearly two feet of space in between them, and she could’ve sworn he was flush against her a second ago. 

“I think it’s time for you to head home.” He says, voice small. “Damage control, and whatever. I can’t imagine my mom or yours are pleased about this.”

Clarke nods, in a stupor. Her mind feels fuzzy, as he walks her to her car, opening the door but not touching her. He doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t watch as she drives away, hurrying back inside. 

She’s not aware of the tears freely flowing down her face as she drives, could hardly recall if the last light she passed was green or not. 

She gets home, and collapses into bed. 

~~

The headlines are driving everyone crazy. 

Clarke had had some hope that maybe her and Bellamy were on the path to reconciliation, before this. 

Stupid, naive, fool. 

She can’t help replaying the way he’d tensed next to her on the couch as he scrolled through his phone. 

**_“Engagement on the way?”_ **pasted on a photo of the two of them, walking hand in hand on the beach, haunting her dreams, no, nightmares. 

Abby had been furious, Wells was sad for her, as he had been this whole summer. Aurora was disappointed. 

And Clarke was heartbroken. 

They hadn’t discussed the engagement before that moment, but the way Bellamy had almost instantly slid away from her to the other end of the couch said enough. 

He didn’t want her. Didn’t love her. Where she had never stopped, he had truly gotten over her. Gotten a few fucks this summer… but, it seemed that was it.

A tear drips onto the piece in front of her. Normally she’d be frustrated, but she wasn’t happy with the way it was going anyway. 

Around her, her room is a mess. Clothes overflowing from her laundry basket, a few dishes piled up on her nightstand. Her hair’s greasy and she’s still in the same sweats she’d pulled on as soon as she got home from the Blake’s two days ago. No one’s bothered her since. Or, they’ve texted, but her phone lays dead on the dresser, another thing for her to ignore. 

She tosses the sketchpad down onto the floor next to her, instead pulling her blanket back up to her chin, letting it envelope her. 

A near constant ache lingers in her chest, reminding her of everything she can’t have. 

And it's funny, almost. She’s spent her entire life at the top, surrounded by everything she could dream up. 

Now, there’s only one thing she wants. 

So close, and impossibly out of her reach. 

Proposal day comes all too soon. Her mother had picked out the ring, handed it off to Bellamy. A team comes in early in the morning. Her nails are delicately painted, makeup done to perfection, hair curled without a stray strand to be found. And then, there’s the dress. A dark green, perfectly contrasting her eyes and hair. 

She tries to stall, makes up an issue with her makeup, complains that the heels she’s dressed in don’t match well. Abby just shoots her a stern look and shoos her into the car outside. 

They’re to meet at a park just outside of downtown. It’s enormous, full of different flower gardens and fountains and gazebos with couples posing for engagement photos. A hot spot for proposals, too. Clarke had tried to get things pushed back. Abby was furious about the leak, but not enough to push it back. 

Clarke’s head lolls onto the back of the seat, emotional exhaustion taking over her. All too soon, they’re there. 

It’s weird, to feel so _alone,_ as the man she loves stands a few feet away from her. He’s dressed to match her, and it looks like Abby might have even bombarded him with stylists as well. 

Normally, she’d laugh at it. 

Instead, she takes up pace next to him, slipping her hand through his. But it’s not the hand holding that’s existed the past month. It’s too tight, his hands just feeling rough, instead of feeling like home. 

“Why haven’t you returned my calls?” He asks, urgent. They only have five or so minutes before he’ll be expected to drop to a knee and recite the speech drawn up for him. 

“My phone died.” No heat, no energy. She has none left to give. 

“You didn’t charge it?” An accusatory glance. 

Walking on thin ice, they are, knowing someone could be taking photos at any second. 

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Clarke…” he trails off as they come to the gazebo Abby had pointed out to them on the map and in the pictures of the park. 

Her heart pounds, and really, it shouldn’t be a big deal, when it so clearly means nothing to him. But her pulse races and her chest seizes up as he leads her to the center of it, her heels clicking on the wood. She chews on her lips as she looks anywhere but at him. There’s fairy lights inside, probably a product of Abby’s scheming. Bellamy shoots her a look, and then he’s dropping to a knee in front of her. 

_No, no no no no. This is all wrong._

_All wrong, all of it._

She’s going to vomit. Right fucking now. Her breathing quickens, and he pulls the box out of his pocket, but it’s older, and hardly looks like something Abby would have picked. 

_Get a grip._

He starts talking, and all she can focus on is the ring. Rose gold, a tiny diamond. Abby didn’t pick this.

Her stomach churns and blood pounds in her ears. 

And then she’s crying, in the middle of his goddamn proposal. 

Distantly, she’s aware of a bright flash of light, Bellamy’s arms around her, sobs reaching her ears. Inhuman sounds, the personification of heartbreak and her own heart, shattered on the floor. 

Everything that happened this summer was a mistake. She never should have let it go on this long, never should have let it get this far, let him get too close. 

Because she knows how this ends. 

In a few years, when their presence fades into oblivion, and her mother doesn't need the press anymore, he will leave. He will leave her again and she will _never_ recover and her heart will be irrevocably broken. 

And she cannot go through that. 

He’s trying to comfort her, she realizes. Soft murmurs reaching her ears, but then someone else is there, leading her away. Wells. It’s Wells. He wasn’t supposed to be here. 

But she doesn’t question it, as he talks to Bellamy, as Bellamy leaves, talking to the crowd that gathered, saying some indiscernible to her ears. 

Wells throws an arm around her waist, supporting her as they walk to his car, gently helping her in. 

He drives her home, going so far as to sternly demand that Abby leave her the hell alone. She squeezes his hand when he does, trying to muster a grateful look, even as it feels like her world is ending. 

Wells draws her a bath, telling her he’ll be on the other side of the door if she needs anything. 

He closes the door, and she proceeds to bawl. 

Somehow, this hurts worse than last time. Because last time, she had no idea what was coming, had no control in the situation whatsoever. 

But today is her fault. 

Today, she should have known better. 

She’s alone again, and it’s her fault. Even if it would’ve been a marriage where her love wasn’t returned, surely that would’ve been better than this. Having him in any way, would be better than this. 

She cries until she’s certain she has nothing left in her. And then, she picks herself up, dries off with a towel, and sets about fixing her life. 

~~

Snow falls outside his bedroom window, picturesque in every way. He keeps letting himself get distracted watching it, and really, it’s going to be a problem soon. 

Bellamy shakes his head, and runs the scissors up the roll of wrapping paper. He got Octavia a sweater this year, one she’d eyed at a store she’d dragged him too. Taking a year off school had been great in some way. 

Octavia having constant access to him was not one of them. 

His phone chimes, interrupting the holiday music playlist he’d been playing. Pulling one side of the piece of wrapping paper up and taping it in place, he reaches up to grab his phone off the desk. 

It’s a text from O, a link and an “lmao.” Quizzically, he unlocks his phone, and promptly feels his heart stop. 

He’d done everything to make sure nothing that happened that day got out to the press, knowing exactly how they’d spin it. And for five months, there hadn’t been a word uttered about them. 

But now-

  
**_  
_**

**_Fucked in the Head?_ **

_an opinion piece by_

_Chloe Matthews_

  
  


> Our favorite power couple of the summer has been erringly silent since they were last spotted out together with their families in August. In case you missed it, Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin had what now appears to be a quick fling this summer. First spotted together at _Cherry on Top Creamery_ early last June, it seemed they couldn’t get enough of each other, with pictures of them popping up at least twice a week from then on. July brought a quick beach getaway. 
> 
> (See our photo wrap up from that,  here ) 
> 
> They were last seen together at _Catch 35_ in August, with the families no less! Engagement rumors quickly started flying around, but with all this radio silence, they quickly died down. Leaked photos have shown, however, that we weren’t far off the mark! Bellamy did in fact propose, but apparently he’s not quite what Clarke is looking for right now. 
> 
> A trusted witness has affirmed that Clarke left the park with another man! Do I smell a scandal? A waitress, choosing to remain anonymous, who served them back in July said Bellamy had no inhibitions about flirting with her, even with Clarke in front of them. A relationship for the media is nothing new, But why the rejected proposal? And who on earth rejects a marriage proposal from Bellamy Blake, no less? There’s only one conclusion I can come to? Clarke Griffin is fucked in the head. 
> 
> Get the full timeline of Bellarke’s relationship,  here 

  
  


The media aspect had never really bothered him. It was easy to let it roll off him. But some things would send Clarke spiralling for weeks. Granted, she had more eyes on her as the daughter of a CEO turned senator and a beloved Hollywood star. 

That’s why they’d agreed to keep things low key and secret between them that year. 

No one knowing meant no weird articles, no speculation. Basically everything they’d gone through this summer. 

It was supposed to spare them, but in the end, it had been their undoing. She refused to tell anyone about him, and he felt too much like an imposter. So he’d ended things, before she could. All too fitting that the opposite would be true this time around. 

He closes the app, and promptly chucks his phone across the room. 

If he’d just been a boy, and she’d just been a girl, things would have been fine. They’d have been happy together. But they both brought too much baggage to the table for things to work. 

He can’t regret it, though. To feel love like that, even if it comes to an end, is a gift of immeasurable worth. 

That’s why… when his mom had offered her old ring, he’d jumped at the opportunity. The ring Abby had handed him was large and plain and ugly, just like the speech she’d handed him. 

He’d tossed the speech out promptly after receiving it and politely had a friend drop the ring off in September. 

Instead, he’d let himself speak from the heart. She’d been visibly nervous, and the romantic that he is, had assumed it was excitement. And then she’d started crying. 

He still had no idea why Wells had shown up, how he’d known there’d need to be damage control. They might have been friends, once upon a time. Instead, they’d hardly ever interacted, and only when Clarke had needed them. 

Regardless, he’d handed Clarke off the Wells, and paid off anyone with photos to delete them, and not say anything. 

And for nearly the rest of the entire year, they had. But now it was Christmas Eve, and apparently the story was worth selling. 

Merry Christmas to her. 

He’d tried calling, once. Had left a voicemail. But he didn’t have the heart to push harder. 

_“Hey Clarke,” he’d mumbled. “It’s me. I know things went down badly, can we please talk?”_

Click. 

Never returned. 

He was supposed to head back to school the next week, but had let them know he’d be taking a semester off. He was set to head back in three weeks, though he wasn’t sure he could do it. 

Bellamy sighs, turning back to the half wrapped present in front of him. Snip, fold, tape. Snip, fold, tape. He places a bow on the top of it, proud of his work, even as he can’t help wondering whether Clarke’s back for Christmas.

~~

There’s a tiny tree in the corner of her apartment. Pathetic, decorated with a few ornaments she’d scrounged up. Her heater isn’t working, so she’s curled up in blankets on the secondhand couch, watching Christmas movies. 

It’s ridiculous, and she ought to feel lonely. Most days she does. But for the moment, she feels okay, and that’s more than she could ever ask for. Wells is coming in two days, which will be nice. Of course, that means spending Christmas Day alone, but she couldn’t ask him to not be with his family because of her. He’s already taking time out of his break to drive up. 

She read the article this morning. Cried for a few minutes, reminded of all she had lost. 

But she has hope. 

The last time she’d gone through this, she’d managed the courage to tell her mother about her major change, and the career path she was now pursuing. 

This time, she’d cut her out completely. They hadn’t talked since that day. Abby had made no attempt to reach out, either. 

Unlike Bellamy. 

Clarke plays the voicemail on a loop, on the bad days. Only thinks about him a couple of times, on the good ones. 

Slowly, the pain eases. There are, of course, days that it comes back, like a tidal wave that she’s hopeless to stop. 

But she gets through those days, reminded of the ones like today, where she makes progress. 

She passes the rest of the day with the droning of whatever movie she chooses. Idly, she passes over some assignments, writing a few words here and there. In the afternoon, she gets up and makes the mint brownie recipe her dad used to make on Sunday’s during Christmastime. 

All in all, it’s a good day, and she slips into bed at the end of the night content. 

She dances around the kitchen the next morning, as she stirs a pancake mix. She woke up uncharacteristically happy, likely a result of the mood from yesterday, but she’s not about to waste it. 

So in her tiny, shitty apartment, she sings Christmas songs at the top of her lungs, pouring batter into the pan. 

Wells comes the next day, and they go out shopping. He catches her up on things with Roan, they binge a few seasons of some new shows. But he leaves on New Years Eve, causing a pang in her chest. 

Back in her loneliness. 

~~

Bellamy has no idea how Wells got a hold of his number. But there’s a text marked from him. 

An address, and an _She’s doing a lot better._

His heart races as he stares at it. He pinches himself, trying to convince himself that this isn’t real. Surely, this is a dream. 

But there it is, right in front of him. 

No.

He shouldn’t, really, but. 

_Third times the charm._

He packs a bag, full of far too much hope, shoots a text to his mom and Octavia, and climbs into his car, GPS queued up to her, five hours away. 

~~

“What the hell are you doing?” She asks. He looks like a snowman, snowflakes in his beard, a layer covering his hair and his clothes. She has half a mind to laugh, but instead, steps aside, welcoming him. 

“Wells texted me.”

“Wells _what_?” He just smiles, pulling up his phone. It brings up a hint of déjà vu, to the last time he’d shown her something on his phone.

But this time, it really is just a text from Wells. Harmless. 

It lifts her heart, though, to know that the progress she’s fought tooth and nail for is showing. 

“Can we talk?” He asks, meek. And she knows, with every fiber of her being, that if she said no, he would leave. 

No questions asked. But she nods, gesturing towards the couch. 

“You can take your coat off. And I’ve got a couple brownies left, do you want one?” He nods, taking an awkward seat on the edge of the couch. She plates it, and makes her way to sit across from him. 

“I can’t apologize-”

“I think we should-” They start at the same time. 

And just like that, the unfamiliarity melts, giving way into the way she will always know him like the back of her hand. 

“I think we should start with freshman year.”

Clarke nods, sitting back in her seat. 

“Why did you break up with me?”

And from there, it all flows. 

“I was insecure,” he admits, eyes not quite meeting hers. “I didn’t like where I was, and I convinced myself the reason we’d kept everything a secret was because you were ashamed of me.”

“Oh Bellamy-”

He shakes his head. “It’s-it’s fine now, and I’m sorry for anything you went through because of that.”

“I don’t think I’d ever hurt that badly.” Her voice is small as she recalls everything she’d felt, outside his apartment door. Betrayal, shame, but most of all, heartbreak. “And it felt like it came out of nowhere.”

“It did.” He reaffirms. 

“Good to know I’m not crazy.” She jokes, but it falls flat. “And then I lost my dad.”

“I know.” He swallows. “I knew, and I didn’t say anything. I’m so sorry, Clarke.”

She nods. 

Because it’s not okay. The pain of losing her father is still so fresh. Even if it’s not his fault, she can’t quite get the words past her lips. 

“What about this summer?” She asks. 

He nods, folding his hands together. “Mom called me when I was at school. Said she needed me home for the summer. Which I was planning on anyway. She told me I got home. And selfishly, I was excited, because I’d get to see you again.”

“But then it all went to shit.”

“It all went to shit,” he echoes. 

“I couldn’t marry you. Not when I was still so in love with you and you’d pulled back again.”

“I didn’t mean to. It just - happened so fast. And I wanted it on our own terms.”

Clarke lets her eyes fall shut.

Things are bright, and this is truth and everything out in the open and _hope._

Her eyes meet his, and in it, she sees a future reflected. Another chance. 

The love of her life, brought back to her. 

And if she had to go through all of this… for him to look at her like that. 

Perhaps, it was worth it. 

~~

_3 years later_

Clarke tosses her purse down on the couch, hanging her coat up by the door. Fall’s beginning to creep through the heat of summer, and it’s far too cold for her liking. 

But Bellamy makes her hot chocolate whenever she pleases, and she’s not one to complain about that. 

There’s the sound of dishes clinking together in the kitchen, but she could’ve sworn Bell said he’d be home later than her today. She smiles, but makes her way into the kitchen.

He looks up at her and smiles, and her heart soars. 

Because this, this is it. Everything she’s ever wanted. 

Everything she convinced herself she would never get. And she’s cognizant of that every single day. She moves next to him, placing a quick kiss on his lips while she grabs a glass of water. 

“How was work?” He asks, turning the heat down on the stove. 

She sips from her glass before tucking herself into his side. “Good. I missed you, though.”

“You saw me this morning,” but he’s smiling even as he says it. She looks up at him, mock frowning and he chuckles. “I missed you too, princess.”


End file.
